“Miss Clinton told me last night that her will is made, leaving everything to Carl, and that, if I marry to suit her, I am to have her jewels, shawls, and laces. I do not want them, though I would rather have fresh new things for myself, if they are not so rich.”
“Whom does she wish you to marry?” Mrs. Yorke asked, directing her letter.
“She did not say,” Edith replied in a constrained voice, looking down.
Mrs. Yorke glanced at her niece, then put her arm out and drew her close. “You have something to tell me, dear,” she said.
Edith began to tremble. “Yes, Aunt Amy. Dick Rowan has been talking to me this morning, and, if you and Uncle Charles are willing, and if I should ever marry any one, I am going to marry him.”
Mrs. Yorke’s brows contracted slightly, rather with anxiety than displeasure. “Dear child, are you sure of yourself?” she asked. “One may have a very great affection for a person, and not be willing to marry him. Don’t be hasty. Take time to think of it till he shall come back again. If you promise, you may regret it. I must say, dear, I think it selfish of him to speak so when you have seen
nothing but birds and books, and do not know your own mind.”
Edith raised her head from her aunt’s shoulder. “Oh! Dick isn’t selfish, and he only asked me to think of it, and to know that he wanted me.”
It was useless to oppose. After a little more talk, Mrs. Yorke promised to consent if both were of the same mind after a year. “And now, Edith, I have concluded to start for home to-morrow, and I want to see Carl right away.”
She did not say that she had only come to this conclusion since Edith had entered her room.